Still Life
by CuriousGeorgiee
Summary: College-ish AU in which Clarke is broke, homeless, and quickly running out of friends. She meets haughty law student Lexa Woods, but the 4.53 in Clarke's bank account isn't going to impress anyone. Follow along as Clarke tries to put out the burning mess that is her life. (Alternative summary: this is my first fic please be gentle I have no idea what I'm doing.)
1. Still life with patient

The autumn hadn't yet bronzed the park, but reds and oranges were creeping in across the treetops like rust, catching the last rays of sunlight and flashing gold. Clarke snuggled deeper into her jacket, shifting her perch high on the memorial wall. As beautiful as the scene was, it was still cold.

She paused her drawing, clenching and unclenching her fists a few times to try and get the blood flowing back into her fingers. Her breath steamed gold in the sun. Across the park, her subjects continued unawares. It was an old couple today, muffled up to the eyeballs and huddled together on a bench, taking turns throwing a ball for a small, fat corgi. It was an adorable scene; their affection for one another couldn't have been clearer, and Clarke was keen to put it to paper before they decided to head home.

She picked up her sketchpad and pencil and managed a few more lines before her hands started to shake too much to continue. Minus gloves, she wiggled her arms inside her jacket, leaving the sleeves to hang empty, and shoved her hands under her armpits. She probably looked childish, but she didn't care. Nothing was going to ruin her mood that day.

She was only at the park at all to kill some time. In half an hour or so she'd be meeting Raven and moving in to her brand new room, and an hour after that she'd be going to her brand new job.

The corgi barked happily as it ran after the ball. Clarke grinned and kicked her legs off the side of the wall. Life was great.

"Hello."

Clarke turned and her legs paused mid-swing. There was a woman on the path, a gorgeous woman, with high cheekbones and big, bold eyes, and a mane of wavy hair that caught every flash of gold and copper in the autumn sun.

 _Wow._

The woman was waiting. Clarke coughed, found her voice and managed a strangled, "Hi."

The woman smiled ever so slightly, as though she knew the effect she was having on Clarke. She probably had the same effect on a lot of people. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said in a low voice. "It's just that I see you here all the time and I always wonder what you're drawing, so I thought I'd ask."

Clarke's eyebrow raised. She gave the woman another, more careful, look over.

Leather jacket; ambiguous. Black skinny jeans; everyone wore those now. A beanie; that was promising. Chelsea boots; interesting…

"You watch me every day?" Clarke teased.

The woman smiled again, just the slightest quirk of her lips. Clarke wondered if her perfect day was also going to get her a date.

"I go to the university," Gorgeous Stranger explained, indicating the other side of the park with a look. "I walk through here every day. I'm not stalking you, I promise." She stepped closer to the wall and took a hand out of her pocket to offer to Clarke. "Lexa."

"I'm Clarke," Clarke smiled, offered her hand in return – and realised she still had her arms inside her jacket like a five year old. She wriggled them free as fast as possible and laughed at herself when she finally clasped Lexa's hand in her own. "Sorry. I got cold."

"No worries," Lexa dimpled. Her hand was warm and smooth, and she gripped Clarke's fingers for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Clarke smiled wider. So it definitely wasn't innocent curiosity that had brought this gorgeous stranger up to the memorial. She jumped down, using Lexa's hand as leverage - _and_ _oh boy she was strong_ – and offered the other woman her sketchpad.

Lexa accepted it with another long look at Clarke, and leaned against the wall as she began to turn the pages. Clarke smiled to herself, sticking her hands in her pockets while she waited. She wasn't nervous about her artwork – people could take it or leave it as far as she was concerned – and besides, she was pretty sure Lexa hadn't come over just to look at her sketches. In the distance, she noticed that the old couple were heading home, corgi jumping around their feet as they walked.

"These are good," Lexa said. Her voice was practically a purr. Clarke bit her lip under its influence. Gorgeous Stranger did sultry effortlessly.

Getting herself under control, Clarke turned. "Thanks."

Lexa dimpled again. It was strange to see someone so poised have such an adorable feature. Clarke liked it.

"Are you an art student?" Lexa asked, flicking through a few more pages.

 _Awkward._

"Ah – no," Clarke said, turning up the brightness on her smile in the hopes of dazzling her. "I used to be."

 _It wasn't a lie, technically._

"Really?" Lexa raised a brow. "When did you graduate?"

Clarke crossed her fingers inside her jacket pockets. "Last year."

"Oh." Lexa's smile faded. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. "I don't remember seeing you around campus."

 _Shit, she knows._

"Oh, it was my final year. I was a recluse." Clarke smiled all the brighter. "What do you study?"

"Law."

 _Shit. I lied to Judge Judy. Why did I lie at all?_

Clarke murmured something about it being an interesting subject, mentally kicking herself. Lexa's brow twitched, but she let it go, turning back to the sketchpad.

"Who's this?" She murmured.

Clarke looked, and a blush exploded onto her cheeks like a firework. It was her ex, Laura, naked. She'd completely forgotten she'd had any nudes in that book.

"Um," she began in a squeaky voice. "A model. From class."

"Really?" Lexa's voice deepened with amusement. "Is that why she's in a bedroom?"

Clarke blushed harder. Lexa's brow raised, a smile once again dimpling her cheeks. At last Clarke gave in to laughter.

"Ok," she began again, "Ok, Columbo. You win. That's my ex, it was just for fun, I forgot it was in that sketchbook, and I am thoroughly embarrassed. Happy?"

"Mmm," Lexa bit her lip to contain her smile. "Do you often draw your girlfriends?"

"Girlfriends, yes, naked girlfriends, more rarely."

"Shame."

Clarke grinned. She'd certainly love to draw Lexa.

Lexa snapped the book shut and offered it back to Clarke. "I'd love for you to tell me about it sometime," she said, voice still a purr. "How about you buy me a coffee?"

It was so bold Clarke was completely taken aback. She froze, gripping one end of the sketchbook while Lexa still held the other.

"Coffee?" She asked, unnecessarily.

"Uh-huh," Lexa dimpled.

Clarke fumbled for words. There was something arresting about Lexa's eyes that refused to release her, something hypnotising about that slight smile. Lexa knew exactly what she was doing to her.

"I can't," Clarke said at last.

The charm broke. The smile vanished. Lexa's voice grew cold. "You can't?" She repeated.

"I'm sorry," Clarke said, and meant it. She drew back, finally accepting the sketchbook, and gestured to the wall, where her backpack, duffel bag, and guitar case were resting. "I'm meeting a friend soon."

She decided not to mention the fact that she quite literally couldn't – there was $4.53 exactly in her pocket right then, and she needed to spend all of it on ramen.

"Ah," Lexa nodded, and a bit of the warmth returned to her voice. "You're going on a trip?"

"Actually, I'm moving in," Clarke grinned. Lexa's eyebrows rose as she took in the two tiny bags, as surprised as Clarke knew she would be, but Clarke was far too happy to lie about it. "If you give me your number, maybe you'll get an invite to the housewarming."

Lexa hesitated, but at last she smiled, shook her head, and got out her phone. Clarke stepped closer to dictate her number to Lexa, and found herself entranced by the musky, floral scent of her perfume.

 _Don't ask about it. Too early. Too weird. Women don't like it when you smell them, Clarke. We've been through this._

Just as Clarke had found her focus enough to finish telling Lexa her number, a car horn blared. She looked around to see Raven's rusty pickup waiting at the edge of the park.

"That's my ride," Clarke said, waving happily. Raven, still in her oil-stained overalls from work, leaned out of the window, caught sight of Clarke, and waved. Clarke beamed and waved back, thrilled at the sight a fat IKEA box in the back of the truck – her new bed.

"I need to go," Clarke murmured, turning apologetically back to Lexa. "Call me," she smiled. "Or, you know, stalk me at the park again."

Lexa bowed her head graciously. "Bye, Clarke." She turned and retreated, her wavy hair flashing gold where it caught the sunlight. Clarke watched her go, admiring her long legs.

Raven honked and Lexa glanced over her shoulder. Caught in the act of staring, Clarke jumped and dropped her sketchpad. Lexa shook her head and kept walking.

Embarrassed, Clarke shoved her sketchpad in her backpack and grabbed her stuff. She sprinted in the opposite direction across the park, bags banging around on her back and cold air burning her lungs.

"What took you?" Raven demanded as Clarke staggered to a wheezing halt by the car. "I've got to pick Finn up from work still. Who was that?"

"That," Clarke panted, shoving her stuff on the backseats, "Was the hottest girl who's ever hit on me."

"Was she blind?" Raven raised a brow. "Or just dumb?"

"Funny." Clarke got in to the front seat. The instant her ass touched the fabric an explosion of dust hit the air, filling the cab with the musty smell of body odour and old fries.

"You know," Clarke coughed, "you can actually modify the inside of cars, too. Not just the engine. This truck is so ugly."

"She didn't mean that, baby," Raven patted the dashboard. "You're beautiful just the way you are."

"Cosmetic surgery is good for cars."

"Oh, shush," Raven put the pickup in gear and pulled away from the curb. "This baby's got your bed in the back, don't insult her. Tell me about your mysterious girl."

Clarke waved away the dust as Raven drove. "She's a law student, apparently. You know anyone studying law?"  
She'd been hopeful, but Raven just pursed her lips and shook her head. "I spend most of my day with my hands shoved up-"

"Don't say Finn."

"-Exhaust pipes. I hardly see anyone outside of the engineering faculty. Ask Octavia."

Clarke murmured noncommittally. Raven raised a brow and glanced across the cab.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Why don't you want to talk to O about it?"

Clarke threw up her hands. "Because she might want her! And she's way sexier than me! Let's be honest here, Rae, you've kind of got to get to know me before you like me, and even then it can be a challenge. How long did it take you to like me when we first met?"

"You're assuming I like you now."

"Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Raven smiled. "Anyway, tell O. She's not letting go of her new boy toy anytime soon, but she's still refusing to talk about it, so we need some new gossip. As the only single we're relying on you for love affairs, drama, and disasters, which is lucky because you're very good at all of those-"

"Rude."

"But is it wrong?"

"…No."

Raven grinned. "Exactly. Clarke Griffin: human disaster. Here she comes."

They pulled up in front of Raven's apartment building and Clarke beamed with happiness. In all honesty, it was just a shabby old redbrick with rusted fire escapes, but given anything with four walls and a roof she would still have been over the moon. She leapt out of the car and grabbed her stuff, backpack and duffle over her shoulders, guitar case hanging from one arm, and attempted to seize the box containing her new bed from the back of the truck as well.

"Careful," Raven warned from the front, watching in the wing mirror as she carefully extracted her bad leg from the car.

"I've got it," Clarke grunted, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth cardboard. She was just broad enough to grab it from each side, so she heaved it out of the car and tried to stagger back onto the sidewalk. Of course, carrying it this way meant that she could see nothing but a wall of cardboard, and she promptly smacked into a very person-like something.

"Sorry!" She gasped, dropping it at her feet, but the person-like something merely grinned.

"No problem," said Finn, fixing his messy hair back into a perfect state of messiness. "Need a little help?"

"If I'd have known it was only you I'd have hit you harder," Clarke grinned. "Could you take that up for me?"

"Sure," he said, then, seeing Raven, added, "Oh, it's you."

She put a hand on her hip. Clarke recognised the signature Reyes battle stance. "It is."

Finn folded his arms and squared up. Clarke, stuck between them, tried to make herself as small as possible.

"And where the hell have you been?" Finn demanded. Raven frowned, but before she could speak, Finn's face softened into a playful grin and he added, "… all my life?"

Raven relaxed. "That was awful," she said, and Clarke agreed, but unlike Clarke, Raven seemed charmed by its awfulness. She allowed Finn to throw an arm around her and kiss her, leaving Clarke standing awkwardly by the side of the road watching clouds go by.

Finally, ten clouds later, they were done. Finn grabbed the boxed bed, Raven locked her truck, and they headed into the building and up the musty stairway.

"You like lines like that?" Clarke teased Raven as they climbed.

"No, it was terrible," Raven said, but there was no mistaking the pink in her cheeks.

"I'm going to tell Octavia that you're a big softie who believes in love and reblogs shitty tumblr positivity posts all night long."

Raven rolled her eyes. "If I did, I'd get them all from your sappy-ass blog."

"Yes, but I'm not ashamed of it."

When they reached the top, Clarke and Finn sweaty and out of breath, Raven opened the door to her apartment and they all piled in. It was a cosy place, or it would have been, if there weren't so many hammers and dangerous-looking bits of engine lying around. There was a living room piled high with gadgets, coffee cups, and textbooks, a modest T.V, and two deceptively squishy-looking blue sofas which Clarke knew hid a vast graveyard of metal shards and tools, ready to deliver death by a thousand cuts to anyone foolish enough to jump on them. Beyond that was a spotless kitchen used for nothing but storing empty take-away containers, a bathroom full of Finn's hair products, and their bedroom, the door of which was firmly shut and Clarke, having heard enough wince-inducing stories about their increasingly kinky sex, had no desire to look in.

Finn leant the box against the living room wall and headed to the kitchen, too out of breath to wheeze anything but, "Coffee."

There was one final door that remained unopened.

Raven hesitated with her hand on the knob. "So, you know your room is kinda… small, right?" She said.

"I remember," Clarke said, getting her breath back. Just hearing the words 'your room' were enough to make her smile. "It doesn't matter, Rae. It really doesn't."

Raven sighed and opened the door.

It was tiny; perhaps five feet by ten. A line of hooks on the walls and the grimy squares left on the carpet by age-old boxes revealed that the room had been storage, or perhaps a walk-in closet.

Clarke took a step inside. There was a window, and that same bright autumn sunlight poured in, setting fire to the sparks of dust which swirled in the breeze of the opened door. It smelled like a garage; oil and dust and moulding cardboard. She took a deep breath of it.

"You ok?" Raven said. "I'm sorry; I know it's not much. But you said it's only for a couple of months, right?"

"Yeah," Clarke turned, grinning. "It's perfect, Rae. Thank you so much for this."

"I'm lending you the closet, Clarke," Rae said. "Don't worry about it. All we had to do was take out a couple of boxes. I didn't even think a person would be able to fit in here until you mentioned it."

Clarke blushed and turned as though continuing to examine the room to hide it. She'd been dropping hints to all her friends about needing a place to stay for weeks. She'd had to evacuate Octavia's couch after Lincoln had become a regular visitor – and their sex life had become a regular visitor to the couch. Desperation had finally driven her to ask directly, _"If a bed could fit in your closet, could I stay?"_

Raven hadn't asked her about it – about why she was so reluctant to go home – yet. Clarke wanted to stall on that point for as long as was humanly possible.

"It's not that small," she said, reaching out and touching both walls at once, which served only to disprove her words. "Ok, it _is_ kinda small. But hey, it's not Harry Potter if it's not under the stairs."

Raven chuckled. "Well, if you need any shelves putting up, give me a call. We can measure what's left after we put the bed in and see if we can get a wardrobe. I can always abuse the university facilities to put one together. Where's the rest of your stuff?"

"This is it," Clarke said. Raven gave her a disbelieving look, and Clarke shrugged uncomfortably. "I decided to cut down. Minimalism, Reyes. It's trendy."

Raven, having the dubious honour of being one of Clarke's oldest friends, saw through this lie immediately. Her dark brows lowered in a frown. Her arms, as though of their own accord, folded.

"Clarke," she began, using her especially gentle voice which was usually only reserved for melodramatic, weeping, inebriated Clarke, "It's totally fine for you to stay here, you know? But it'd be nice to know why-"

Finn appeared. "Coffee!" He announced, juggling three hot cups in his hands. Everyone took one, scalding themselves and swearing.

Clarke looked desperately at Raven over the top of her mug. _Not in front of Finn._

Raven sipped her coffee and gave a short nod. They'd talk later. Relief made Clarke sigh out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding.

"I forget if you took cream or sugar, Clarke," Finn was saying when she tuned back in.

Clarke glanced away from Raven. "Both," she said. "No worries, though."

"Oh, my bad. There's sugar in the kitchen. Help yourself."

"Thanks. And thanks for letting me stay. Both of you," Clarke looked between them. "I really appreciate it. I won't be a pain, I promise."

"Hey, mi casa es tu casa," Finn exclaimed. "Especially when Raven is paying the rent."

Raven elbowed him hard, and he retreated, laughing all the way. Clarke blinked. "You pay his rent? What are you, his sugar momma?"

"Well, now I'm yours, too, so don't complain." Raven drew a boxcutter from her pocket and tossed it over. Clarke missed it completely and it thumped to the floor. "Have fun unpacking. Do you have work tonight or do you want to eat with us?"

Clarke hoped Raven couldn't hear her stomach rumble at the thought of dinner. "Uh, no thanks," she said, grabbing the boxcutter. "I've got to go in a few hours. I'll get something at the cafeteria in the hospital."

Raven made gagging noises at the mention of hospital food and left. Clarke heard her talking to Finn, then the inevitable sounds of kissing, and promptly shut the door. She was grateful for Raven letting her stay, but not grateful enough to make listening to them eating each others' faces worth it.

The closing door threw up a fresh cloud of dust, shining gold in the sunlight and reminding her of the leaves in the park. The park took her memory straight to the gorgeous stranger who had asked her for coffee. Clarke touched her phone – but left it. Too soon.

She got to work setting up her new room.

First, the bed had to be unpacked. She'd been dreading it being a horrendous IKEA nightmare of nuts and bolts and instruction guides ten feet square, but it turned out to just be a folding guest bed with a lumpy mattress attached. All it took was pulling it out of the box, unfolding it, and throwing on her old sheets. Raven leant her a pillow and blanket from the sofa, and that was it.

Her clothes she just stuck on hangers and arrayed on the old coat hooks. There weren't many of them, just whatever she'd managed to grab from her mom's house before she left, but fortunately all she really needed were jeans and t-shirts to wear at work under her scrubs. It was a shame she'd forgotten to grab any sweaters, she thought, beginning to shiver. There were no radiators in her little box room, and outside it was only going to get colder. She'd just have to keep her jacket on all the time.

When she'd finished she sat on the bed and considered the room. Unpacking had only taken her ten minutes. The guest bed, the borrowed blanket, and the half-empty coat hooks made for a sad view, but she was at a loss as to how to fix it.

She sipped the coffee Finn had brought, and fished out a half-eaten sandwich from her backpack that she'd been saving for dinner, nibbling at it while she puzzled it over.

The room was too plain. _Anyone could live here,_ she thought. _I have to make it mine._

Sandwich hanging out of her mouth, Clarke extricated her guitar, shoved the case under the bed with her empty duffle, and propped it snugly in the corner by the window. She took out her sketchbooks and tore out a few practise pieces, paintings and pastels – anything colourful – and stuck them above her bed with blu-tac. She left art supplies, paint-boxes and pencils and stiff, dirty brushes, scattered on the windowsill along with her empty coffee cup, as though to emulate the messiness of a well-lived in place.

It wasn't much, but it would do. She could make it home.

At eight she left the house, surprising Raven and Finn, who were snuggled together on the couch. Clarke tried not to sound too envious when she said goodbye and told them she'd be away all night.

"You're on nights?" Raven said. "You hate nights."

"Not now I owe you rent I don't," Clarke said, trying for levity. "I love them."

"Yeah, get out there and work, Griffin," Finn said, grabbing a spanner from the mess on the coffee table. "Or I'll break your knees."

It was a bit more threatening than funny, but Raven didn't react, so Clarke didn't either. "If you break my knees I won't be able to leave you guys alone to bang," Clarke warned, waving over her shoulder as she left.

She headed out, down the musty stairs, the air getting colder and colder until she opened the outside door and hissed at the impact of the icy wind. Regretting her sweaters more than ever, she huddled into her jacket and jogged to the bus stop through a haze of smoky breath and blurred streetlights.

She worked at a care home, a halfway house between the hospital and death. It was a surprisingly cheerful place, and most of her job involved taking old people to the toilet and chatting to the residents about their families, with a side order of medication distribution to justify her useless two years of medical school.

The first few hours of her shift passed in a blur of artificial light and artificial smiles. Patients were medicated, fed, placated, or amused, until finally quiet reigned throughout Clarke's rooms and the matron announced she was going home, leaving Clarke and another carer to sit in the darkened halls and wait for sunrise.

Clarke shuffled to the kitchen to get them both a cup of coffee – it was free. The other carer, Wells, didn't thank her; he never did, but she always brought him one anyway. They hardly spoke, but it suited Clarke that night. She set herself up at a different desk, a single lamp shining down on her and her sketchbook like a spotlight in the darkness.

The home was a good place to practice, the night shifts even better. Clarke opened it to her sketch of the old couple from the park and began to idly fill in some details. Pencil wasn't her forte, but she wanted to practise, and this, she decided, would become a watercolour, so she couldn't break out her favourite charcoals.

It took her about an hour to finish all the details she wanted, a peaceful hour filled with the sound of scratching pencils and sipped coffee and the turning pages of Wells' book. She was just twitching in the tiny pencil-strokes which made up the old man's smile when the buzzer sounded.

She checked the wall. Bed 63. Clarke looked at Wells. Wells looked at his book.

Sighing, Clarke closed her sketchbook and got to her feet. "No, I'll go," she assured Wells as she left. "You relax."

"Thanks," he said, turning another page.

Clarke headed into the dark corridors, scrubs shushing with each step, her torch flashing on laminated signs and plastic plants. Sighs and mutters followed as she went past each door and disturbed residents murmured protests in their half-sleep. It wasn't exactly a restful atmosphere – toeing the line between showroom house and horror movie hospital – but she knew the occupant of bed 63 well enough not to be scared.

The door, when she reached it, was open. Clarke paused. From beyond the door, the sound of the buzzer going off was faint.

Her torch wavered, flicking between the door handle and the darkness beyond. She nudged the door with her toe and it swung wider.

"Mr. Wallace?" She whispered.

 _If he's dead, I'll kill him. Kill him dead-er._

The room was spacious, but plain; a curtained window, wardrobe, and a few armchairs. Above the bed, the 'help' light flashed orange in time with the buzzer. The bed itself was empty.

Clarke rushed in. "Mr. Wallace?" She cried. Next to the bed, his wheelchair lay on its side. "Oh, jesus."

She turned back to the door, fumbled for the lights. They snapped on, blinding her. Something banged. Clarke jumped and turned.

A white Scream mask loomed into her eyes. A black mass sailed from the wardrobe straight at her face. Fingers like iron gripped her by the shoulders. She screamed – then clamped a hand over her mouth. The figure in the death costume was laughing.

Clarke tore off its mask. "DANTE."

Dante Wallace's lined face was creased with amusement. His chest, weak as usual, struggled to let him get the words out. "You – jumped – this – high," he panted between giggles. He took his hand off her shoulder to measure exactly how high, and nearly fell flat on his face. Clarke swooped to catch him, grunting with effort as she half-carried him back to his bed.

"Yes, yes, very funny," she grunted. "Hold on to me – that's it – easy."

Dante collapsed onto the bed, still shaking with laughter. "I got you," he wheezed. "I got you."

"You sure did," Clarke agreed, not half as amused as he was. "You were fast asleep when I came round earlier. How the hell did you get into the wardrobe?"

"Chair," he said, wiping his eyes. "Pushed it afterwards. Easy."

Clarke sighed and righted the wheelchair, tucking it in next to the bars and things which helped him get into and out of bed himself. "We need to tie you down," she said. "Strap you in like a rollercoaster."

"I would always escape!" He declared. "Although that does sound amusing."

Clarke smiled. Dante Wallace's lust for life – even after having been dumped here by his good-for-nothing son a year ago – always made her feel better, as though his was a fire that warmed everyone around him.

"So, how's the portfolio coming along?" He asked as she tucked him back into bed and tidied his room.

"Oh, so-so," she murmured. "I'm working on my watercolours. They never seem to do what I want."

"You have to let them do what _they_ want!" Dante insisted. "They'll show you something new, I promise."

Clarke smiled. Dante always spoke like this; as though art was its own person. "I'll work on it," she said.

"Let me see your practice pieces," he said. "I bet you've been being too insistent with your lines again."

Clarke, finished tidying, sat down in one of the armchairs by the bed. The clock on the cabinet ticked loudly in her ear. "I tore them all out," she admitted.

Dante shot upright. "What?"

"No, no –" It took a few moments to calm him. "To decorate my new room," Clarke explained. "I wanted colours on the walls. Like yours."

"Oh," the old man sighed. "Oh, good. Like mine, eh?"

He looked around at the miniature canvasses hung from the walls, the bright flowers and lakes that he had painted. There were no photographs, or even paintings, of his family.

Suddenly Dante turned to look at her, eyes lucid and clear. "New room, eh?" He asked. "You left your friend's couch at last? Where to?"

"Another friend's closet," Clarke admitted.

Dante laughed. He reached out and patted her hands as they lay on her lap. "I'm glad you have somewhere," he said. ""Baby steps, Clarke. Today, the closet; tomorrow, art school."

Clarke smiled. "Tomorrow, saving every penny I have for the next eight months until it's time to reapply for school, yes."

"That's the spirit!" Dante exclaimed. Clarke didn't have the heart to point out her sarcasm. "Does your friend know what happened?"

Clarke shook her head. Dante tutted. "That's what friends are for, Clarke. They help you when you need it and when you are carrying these burdens."

Clarke kept her mouth shut and Dante sighed. "I bet they're worried about you. I bet your mother is. How many times does she call you every day? Fifteen, twenty?"

 _Thirty-five times since last weekend._

"She can call me as many times as she likes," Clarke muttered, glaring at a painting of a sunflower. "She can't change the past."

Dante looked serene. "The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago," he intoned. "The second best time is now."

Clarke raised her eyebrows. Dante leant back on his pillows and closed his eyes, as though his sudden lurch into gardening had closed the conversation.

He didn't seem to want to say anything else, so Clarke got to her feet, glancing at her watch and groaning at the thought of another seven hours in the dark.

"Goodnight, Mr. Wallace."


	2. Still life with silhouette

_Hey guys, gals, and nonbinary friends! Thanks for reading! I wasn't expecting to get such a nice response to my first fic. I really appreciate all your views and reviews._

 _As you can probably tell, I'm not the best writer out there. With this fic I'm hoping to try and get better at inter-personal relationships in my writing, particularly romantic arcs and interactions between friends. So, any tips or crit are all welcome!_

A week flew by. Clarke staggered around in an exhausted haze, and by the time Friday rolled around she only had hazy memories of white hospital lights and bad coffee to remember the past week. Work was tolerable, living with Raven and Finn was perfectly nice, and the taste of cup noodles hadn't made her puke yet. What more could she ask for?

Clarke woke and groaned, her back muscles rigid and painful after another night on the guest bed. The room was bright yellow with wintry sun, and there was a tentative border of frost melting on the outside of the window. She stuck a brave arm out from beneath the warmth and safety of the blanket to find her phone.

It was 1:30pm – not bad, considering she finished work at seven. There were a couple of texts from her mother, which she ignored, a few facebook likes for a painting she'd uploaded, and finally, a reply from Lexa.

 _4:46_

 _Clarke_

 _Hey! Sorry about the crazy timing, I hope this_

 _doesn't wake you up! I'm just at work rn. I've_

 _been working overtime (ugh!) but I should be_

 _free on Friday and Saturday if you'd like to_

 _meet up then! Let me know :D x_

 _8:43_

 _Lexa_

 _Ok_ _J_

Clarke snorted with laughter. She'd finally got around to texting Lexa on Wednesday, with a cheerful, friendly message that (she hoped) was her style. Since then her messages to Lexa had been long and bubbly, details about her day and her availability, and although she replied, Lexa's messages were brusque to the point of rudeness; one-word responses or sometimes just emojis. Expert conversationalist, she was not.

 _Pretty face does all the talking for her,_ Clarke thought as she sat up and stretched. Her thumb hovered over the 'reply' button as she considered asking for a time to make their meet-up a concrete plan. Lexa hadn't exactly been encouraging, and Clarke couldn't do all the work.

Clarke locked her phone. Beauty wasn't everything. She left her phone on her pillow and jumped in the shower.

It was her day off, so she took her time, even bothering to begin the slow process of industrial deforestation which was the shaving of her legs. Half an hour later, the drain was clogged – she'd blame Finn – and she danced out of the shower silky smooth.

She dried her hair, moisturised, and headed into the kitchen to make herself some coffee, humming the Harry Potter theme. Breakfast was the same as it had been for the last week – plain toast – but she treated herself to fresh coffee stolen from Raven and made properly with their weird little Nespresso machine.

Still in her towel, she took her coffee into the lounge and stretched out on one of the less spiky seats of the sofa, feeling like a whole new person. Her two days off stretched out gloriously before her tired eyes, filled with drawing and sleeping and drawing and sleeping. Maybe Octavia would come round to hang out at Raven's. Maybe Lexa would get back to her and Clarke could see her in seduction mode again. _Nice._

Alternatively, Octavia could ask them to go clubbing. Lexa might take her out, then demand they split the cheque. Clarke felt a prickle of unease at the back of her neck. She grabbed a scrap of paper from the coffee table, fished around in the sofa cushions for a pen, and started to make a budget. She was paid fortnightly, so next Friday she'd have some cash. Last week she'd given most of her pay to Octavia in repayment for letting her stay so long on her couch. Then she'd had to buy the guest bed for Raven's place, and then a big chunk had been taken out for transport to work. Next week she'd have a bit more left over after she gave rent to Raven. Clarke's stomach grumbled at the thought of getting some decent food. She was basically living off PB&J sandwiches and ramen, but she didn't have the healthiest diet anyway, so even if she had money all she'd buy was burgers -

A cold finger stroked across her shoulders. Clarke jumped so high she spilled coffee all down herself. Her pen clattered to the floor.

"Gah!" She yelped as the coffee burned her. _Bad time to be half-naked._ "Raven…" She laughed, turned – and came face to face with Finn.

"Surprise," he said.

"Finn," she said. He was leaning on the back of the sofa so their faces were very close. Clarke tried to shuffle backwards to put a bit of distance between them, but couldn't without dislodging her towel. She fumbled for something else to say. "I didn't know you were home."

He smiled a lazy smile. His hair was a mess – a real mess, not his fashionable, deliberate mess – as though he'd only just got up. "I didn't know you were home, either," he said. "I would've come out here earlier if I'd known there was gonna be a show."

Stunned, Clarke gave a short laugh even though she wasn't sure he was really joking. Finn grinned as though she'd appreciated his joke and wasn't just getting goosebumps from the creepiness of it.

"Is that Raven's coffee?" He pointed at her mug and winked.

Clarke felt a flush of guilt stain her cheeks red. "I didn't think-"

"Don't worry, I won't tell. You want another?" He headed back to the kitchen.

"Uh, no thanks." Clarke jumped up and quickly decided, "I'm heading out."

Clutching her towel close, she scurried to her room and shut the door. She realised for the first time that it didn't have a lock, and swore softly.

 _I shouldn't need a lock anyway,_ she thought, tearing a hand through her clean hair. _What was that about? Was he – flirting? What about Raven?_

She sat on the bed and gave herself a minute to think. Her heart was thumping hard, as though she'd just been catcalled, or felt up at a club.

 _So Finn is a dick. Poor Raven…_

She knew one thing for sure: she wanted to get out of the apartment. Making a mental note to tell Raven about Finn's behaviour – no matter how minor, she didn't want it to come between her and her friend – Clarke pulled on some clothes and shoved some art supplies into her backpack.

"You leaving?" Finn called as she unlocked the front door. "I thought it was your day off."

"Getting some fresh air," Clarke called over her shoulder, slamming the door shut and thundering away down the wooden stairs.

 _How did he know it was my day off?_

Outside the apartment building, breathing in the first clean, cold breeze, she hesitated. She had nowhere to go, and no cash to get a drink she could nurse in a coffee shop for a few hours, so she decided to head back to the park.

Autumn had crept in to every leafy street of the town, and the crisp air soon turned Clarke's nose pink. She'd been to goodwill earlier in the week and picked up an old, blue, men's sweater to wear under her jacket, and although it smelled musty and she was kind of worried someone had died in it, at least she was warm.

It was a long walk, but a nice one, and she spent the first fifteen minutes happily kicking piles of leaves and pretending they were Finn's creepy, smiling face. What on earth was he trying to do? Did he really think that Clarke was into him? Or that she'd betray Raven like that even if she was? Clarke gave the next pile of leaves an extra-vicious kick.

When she finally arrived at the park it was packed with people muffed up in coats and hats. The trees were on fire in a blaze of oranges, yellows, and reds, and the grass was so thick with fallen leaves that Clarke had to shuffle her way through as though it were knee-high snow.

She fought her way to the top of the hill and her favourite people-watching spot on the wall. It was a bit damp, but her jeans were dirty anyway, so she just swept a few leaves away and settled down to paint.

She opened up her sketchbook to her scene with the old couple and the corgi. She was desperate to widen her horizons – she needed a variety of materials and techniques in her portfolio if she stood any chance of getting into art school – so she regretfully passed over her charcoals and picked up the watercolour tin she hated.

Dante's advice, to relax and let the watercolours do what they liked, rang in her ears as she poured some water into the lid of the paint tin and mixed her first colour. She sighed and rolled up her sleeves.

First she added the oranges and browns she could see now to the background. The watercolours weren't her forte, so she went slowly; teasing the paper with feathery strokes of her brush, trying desperately to control the flow of the paint.

It was hopeless. The orange was too pale, and once it was on the page she couldn't paint a darker coat until it dried. She let out a breath, trying to stay calm, and mixed herself a more vibrant orange to fix her mistake. She chose a thinner brush and started shaping each leaf individually, leaving white space to give them a highlight, trying to emulate the glossy bronze she could see on the real trees across the park. It was painstaking, thankless work, and half the time the watery paint blended each leaf together anyway, but when she finished and sat back to look at it, the overall effect was okay.

She checked her phone. Thirty minutes just to make a pale splotch of leaves.

"I hate you," Clarke whispered to her paint tin. She stabbed the block of green with a wet brush until the colour was ready to paint with and tried to fill in the park lawn. The first stroke of her impatient brush sent a green tsunami flooding across the paper. Clarke watched, helpless, as it swept away all of her careful pencil lines and drowned her dog.

 _Jesus Christ._

She mixed a stronger colour, chestnut, and attempted to hide the grinning, green corgi. The wet paper tore beneath the added water and pressure from her brush, not only ruining her current picture, but smearing the one on the page beneath with a huge swathe of brown.

Clarke glared down at her destroyed painting, frustrated beyond words. How could Dante love watercolours so much?

She seized the sketchbook and grabbed the page, ready to tear the bastard thing apart – but her phone buzzed just before she could.

 _2:43_

 _Lexa_

 _Is that you on the wall at the park again?_

Clarke looked around. There was no one close by, except a group of college boys throwing a football around. All the paths were empty. She got another text.

 _2:44_

 _Lexa_

 _You're wearing a cute blue sweater._

Clarke hoped she hadn't done anything embarrassing while she'd been being observed. She tapped out a quick reply.

 _2:44_

 _Clarke_

 _Yes I am how are you psychic?_

"Hey."

"Gah!"

Clarke's phone clattered to the floor and she swore. Lexa, who'd appeared behind the wall, bent to return it.

"Sorry," she said, handing it back and lancing Clarke with her big, glittering eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Clarke insisted she hadn't, but Lexa only smiled. She was looking especially studious that day, with her hair up in a bushy ponytail and a satchel filled with books over her shoulder. She was wearing black jeans and a green plaid shirt with a pair of folded glasses in the chest pocket. Clarke couldn't help but notice how well the shirt brought out her eyes as Lexa nodded towards her phone.

"Did it survive?"

Clarke turned it on and experimented with a few apps. "Looks like it."

"Oh, good." Lexa tilted her head. "Sketching again?"

"Yeah. Trying watercolours," Clarke waved her sketchbook despondently, although Lexa's sudden appearance had made her feel better about her failed painting. "Not going so well."

"I'm sure it's great," Lexa said.

"It's really not," Clarke laughed. She tore out the page, scrunched it into a ball, and threw it at the recycling bin across the path.

It missed spectacularly, but to her credit Lexa didn't comment beyond a small smile. She went to retrieve it and placed it in the bin herself.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Clarke tried to get herself together. Lexa was waiting for her to continue the conversation – and she had nothing to lose by trying. It wasn't Lexa's fault that she was tired, or that she had a creepy-ass roommate.

Clarke tried to summon her usual, beaming smile. "Sorry. It's easy to get depressed over a bad piece of art. And I make bad art all the time, so…"

Lexa smiled so broadly two little dimples appeared in her cheeks. They were adorable. "It's the artist's temperament," she said. "I guess you're also an opium addict."

"And I frequent the brothels in the evenings to try and soothe my lonely soul," Clarke agreed, grinning.

"Is that where you met your muse?" Lexa teased. "The one you draw naked all the time?"

Clarke laughed. "That's my ex, remember?"

Lexa's eyes refused to leave Clarke's. She did sultry effortlessly. "I remember."  
Clarke tore her gaze away. "I thought you were busy today," she said. "You didn't text me back." She almost added 'with the details' but didn't want to pressure Lexa – demanding to know when their date would be was not attractive. For all she knew, Lexa might have changed her mind about it – about her.

 _Cool and casual, Clarke._

Lexa smiled. "I just let out of class. Sorry I didn't give you a time; I wanted to let you choose for our date."

 _Or not._

"Oh," Clarke stammered. "Thanks."

Lexa smiled. She knew exactly what she was doing – exactly what effect she had on women. Clarke tried to get a grip on herself.

As though she sensed Clarke's reluctance, Lexa reached out and patted the wall next to Clarke, then jumped up there herself. Clarke felt the warmth from her body as their thighs touched and tried not to enjoy it too much.

 _Resist, Clarke, resist._

Lexa wore her casual smile, the one that wasn't entirely genuine, and managed to lose not an ounce of poise despite the damp wall that was undoubtedly soaking through her jeans the same way it was Clarke's. She met Clarke's eyes.

"Draw me," she said.

Clarke's resistance shattered. It was beyond flirtatious. Dumbfounded, Clarke simply blinked at her for a few moments.

"Draw you?"

"Uh-huh." Lexa pulled her hair free of its tie and tossed her head, mane of curls swishing out behind her. She put her hands behind her and leaned back, fixing Clarke with a smoky look and pursing her lips. "How's this?"

Clarke laughed, just like Lexa wanted. Lexa grinned, and relaxed her exaggerated pose.

"Come on," she said, nudging Clarke's shoulder. The deliberate contact sent a spark down to her fingers. "You're an art graduate, aren't you? I hear you guys are desperate for work. I'm giving you a job. Draw me."

Clarke decided to play along. "Jobs usually get me paid," she warned as she turned to a clean page in her sketchbook. "What's your offer?"

"How about a coffee?" Lexa grinned. "Seeing as you blew me off last time."

Clarke laughed. "I had places to be!"

"I don't take no for an answer."

"I can see that."

Lexa's smile deepened. Her eyes raked Clarke's face. There was something hungry in her look, as though she'd throw aside the sketchbook and rip off Clarke's clothes right there in the park.

"Tomorrow," she said at last.

"I want coffee and cake," Clarke said.

Lexa laughed, shaken out of her flirtatious poses. "Sure," she said, smiling a much more natural smile. "Whatever you want."

"Deal." Clarke offered her hand for Lexa to shake. Lexa's grip was firm. "I have a very sweet tooth," Clarke warned her. "This is going to cost you."

"That's fine."

"Ok. Hold still."

Clarke took out her favourite willow charcoals. Lexa straightened her spine and adjusted her hair with surprising self-consciousness.

Clarke squared up to her and studied the shape of her face more carefully so she could mark down the edges of her high cheekbones, the cherry curve of her chin, and the edge of her hairline before she began to fill in the details. As she worked she noticed things about Lexa's face that she hadn't seen before; the kink in her nose and a deep ridge in the middle of her lower lip, almost as though she'd split it. Clarke wondered if she'd ever been in a fight. It wouldn't have surprised her.

As Clarke sketched, slowly filling in the details in sharpened charcoal, Lexa relaxed. Without her sardonic smile and her deliberate flirtations, her brow cleared and her mouth smiled naturally, making two little dimples appear on her cheeks. Her eyes, no longer narrowed and calculating, shone with their natural pearly green. She looked very young all of a sudden.

Clarke could have worked for hours, but she realised after ten minutes or so that Lexa was probably getting bored and regretting her flirtatious suggestion. She smudged a tiny hint of a dimple into the drawing's cheek and then sat back.

"Done."

"Oh?" Lexa took a moment to regain her focus, and Clarke wondered if Lexa had been studying her while she had been drawing Lexa, and if she had also liked what she saw. "Let me see."

Clarke handed over her sketchbook and wiped her hands on her jeans while Lexa looked. She wasn't embarrassed about her artwork at all – she knew she was pretty good at portraits, even if it was just a ten minute sketch.

"Wow," Lexa said, gratifyingly sincere. She lifted a slender finger and touched the picture before Clarke could stop her. Her finger smeared charcoal across the page. "Oh! Sorry-"

"It's ok," Clarke laughed. "What did you think would happen with charcoal?"

"I've ruined it," Lexa murmured.

"Nah," Clarke waved her away. "I could do you another one anytime. Anyway, you smudged it outwards, so I can just blend it into your hair when I get round to filling that in. No big deal. Maybe don't touch the artwork next time."

"I'll bear that in mind." Lexa gingerly passed the sketchbook back. "You're good."

Clarke studied the drawing, immediately seeing all the flaws: the line of her cheek wavering, the lack of highlight on her nose, the slight displacement of her eye. "I'm alright at portraits," she said. "But that's all I do. I'm trying to move away from them, but so far it's going horribly."

"Do you get many commissions?"

Clarke hesitated. She'd told Lexa she was an art graduate the first time they met.

 _Idiot._

"Actually, I work at a care home," she said, smiling wide to cover her mistake. "There's no way I could get work as an artist straight out of school."

"Hey, you got a commission today, didn't you?" Lexa grinned, back to her sultry look. "When are you free for that coffee?"

Clarke couldn't resist. It had been a long time since she'd had something – someone – as exciting as Lexa to look forward to.

"Anytime."

...

Clarke opened the door to a chorus of cheers from the lounge.

"Clarkey!"

"Get your fine ass in here, Griffin!"

She turned and saw Raven and Octavia, arms around one another, waving a bottle of rum at her from the lounge. Clarke grinned; getting drunk with friends, followed by a coffee date with a gorgeous girl. That was what good weekends were made of.

"Hey!" Clarke dumped her bag in her room and leapt onto the sofa next to Octavia. Something from the mysterious depths of the cushions stabbed her up the butt and Octavia laughed as she fished out a screwdriver.

They poured Clarke a fresh rum and coke and turned down the volume on the TV so they could talk. They'd been watching Prisoner of Azkaban, and Clarke joked that it was her favourite movie just because she knew Raven and Octavia would be furious.

"Obviously Order of the Phoenix," Octavia argued.

"Deathly Hallows part two," Raven interjected.

"Think of how hot Tonks is."

"Please. Molly Weasley versus Bellatrix, hello?"

Clarke grinned at her friends, relaxing for the first time all week. Finn wasn't home, Raven was slightly drunk, and Octavia's feisty presence exuded energy and gave them all a boost. It was like being back at university when they'd all lived together.

"Your mom called," Octavia said. Clarke sat bolt upright, all her relaxation evaporated. "I told her you weren't staying with me anymore. She wanted to know where you'd gone but I just said I didn't know – is that ok? You said you didn't wanna see her, so…"

Clarke cleared her throat. "Yeah that's awesome, thanks O. I appreciate it. Sorry you had to lie."

Raven frowned. "How come you're not talking to your mom? Is that why you've got hardly any stuff here? You just up and left?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Clarke admitted. She curled her legs beneath her on the sofa, feeling suddenly trapped rather than protected by her friends.

"Did you have a fight or something?" Raven continued to probe. Octavia nudged her in the ribs. "What? I'm just asking."

"Well don't ask," Octavia hissed. "Sorry, Clarke."

"It's ok, O," Clarke sighed. "We fought. It was bad. I don't wanna talk about it yet, if that's ok."

Her friends looked back at her, understanding. Octavia rubbed her shoulder. "Sure, Clarke."

Raven, more pensive, took a few moments to study her. Clarke met her eyes and tried to look as sincere as possible. At last, Raven nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks guys."

There was a pause. The girls all sipped their drinks. Clarke nibbled her lip, worried that this awkwardness was her fault, but unwilling to explain further. At last she turned to Octavia with a guaranteed conversation starter. "How's Lincoln?"

Octavia beamed. "He's great! Yesterday –" And off she went, rattling off story after story; Octavia could sing Lincoln's praises for days at a time. Raven and Clarke shared an affectionate look over O's shoulder.

"-And then he brought me lunch and we sat outside and had coffee in the park. The ground was wet and he didn't have a blanket, so he sat down and I sat on his knee. He's just the sweetest," Octavia gushed.

Clarke looked at her fondly and wondered what it would be like to be so in love. Exhausting, probably.

"Very cute," Raven said. "Nothing says 'I love you' like keeping your S/O's ass dry."

"Depends on the situation, I guess," Clarke grinned.

Octavia thumped her arm. "Stop ruining my cute stories! That doesn't even make sense! What's sexual about a wet ass?"

"I don't know. I just thought it was funny." Clarke sipped her drink and mused, "Maybe it's been so long I've forgotten what sexy is."

"Just look in the mirror, girl" Octavia winked.

Clarke feigned shock. "Ms. Blake! We've got to keep our love a secret, lest your jealous lover should come along and you bring disgrace upon your family."

"And you love Lincoln," Raven added, "as you tell us daily."

"Oh yeah, I do love him," Octavia smiled dreamily.

Clarke mixed some fresh drinks for them all while Octavia mused on her beau. Raven started texting – Finn, no doubt. Clarke looked at the extremely strong rum and coke she'd just mixed for herself.

 _At least you still love me, rum._

"Oh, hey, it's Lincoln's birthday next week, I need you guys to help me plan something," Octavia said.

"Give him a framed picture of yourself," Raven suggested from her phone.

"Get some strippers and women jumping out of cakes," said Clarke.

"But give them all masks so they look like you," Raven added.

"Or you could be all the strippers yourself."

"Yeah! Just do them all yourself."

Clarke looked at Raven. "Do them all or _do_ them all?"

"Whichever Lincoln would prefer to watch."

Octavia flicked them both on the forehead. "No, no, no, and no. I don't want him looking at other ladies. He should only be looking at me."

"That's a bit over protective," Raven said.

Clarke slapped herself on the forehead. "Rae! Shit! I've been meaning to tell you! I was gonna text but – never mind. This morning the weirdest thing happened with Finn."

Raven was instantly cagey. "What happened?"

This wasn't the response she'd been hoping for. Clarke hesitated. "Well, it was just a little thing. I came out of the bathroom and sat in a towel and he came up to me and…"

Raven was frowning more and more severely. Octavia shrank between them, glancing from person to person with alarm.

"And what?" Raven demanded.

"… Nothing, really," Clarke said. "He just… he looked at me and touched my shoulder and…" She realised as she was speaking that Raven wouldn't see it from her point of view; all she was achieving through this was making her angry. "… And it was a little bit creepy."

Raven's frown softened. "Jeez, Griffin, if you think that's a come-on you've been out of the game so long you're going to turn back into a virgin."

Clarke laughed, dazed at the sudden change. "Is that possible?" She asked, relieved that Raven had lightened the mood.

"Maybe your vaj will shrivel up and die," said Raven.

"Ew," Octavia chimed in.

"But seriously," Raven sipped her drink. "You were walking round in a towel and he looked at you. That's all? That's what guys do, Clarke."

"Yeah," Clarke said weakly. "Well, I just thought you should know."

Raven shrugged and turned back to her phone. "It's all good."

Clarke let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She made a mental note not to bring any of Finn's antics up again. _That was way harder than it needed to be._

She met Octavia's eyes, and a flash of understanding passed between them. Being creepy around semi-naked friends was not just 'what guys did'. Neither of them mentioned it to Raven. She was happy with Finn, and they both wanted that for her. She deserved to be happy.

The silence, usually so companionable, grew a little uncomfortable. Raven saved it with a cheeky grin.

"Clarke, what happened to that girl you met who was so hot you didn't want to ask O about her in case she stole her?"

Octavia laughed. "That plan went well."

"Thanks, Rae," Clarke sighed, glad they were back to normal. "It's ok, actually."

"She actually got in touch?"

"Yeah, kinda. I saw her at the park again today. We're going for coffee tomorrow. She's…" Clarke bit her lip, frustrated with her inability to express her impression of Lexa. "She's pretty intense. I don't think she really likes me, but she's so flirty, you know?"

"So she likes you?" Raven frowned.

"No, that's the problem. If she was a guy I'd say she just wanted to get laid," Clarke, said, then immediately regretted it. Memories returned of Lexa's innocent face as she'd sketched her, and of the vague, unfocused look Lexa had had – as though she'd been looking at Clarke just as intently as Clarke had been looking at her.

"Who is it?" Octavia asked.

Clarke shook off her memories of Lexa and the park. "I don't know her last name," she said. "A law student named Lexa."

Octavia's dark eyes went wide. "Lexa Woods?"

"I just told you I don't know her last name," Clarke laughed.

"Oh my god…" Octavia grabbed her phone and frantically searched through her Facebook friends. "Is this her?"

Lexa's profile picture was stunning; her and some friends, dressed and carefully made-up for a night out. Even surrounded by beautiful girls, Lexa stood out a mile.

"Yeah," Clarke murmured. "That's her."

"Wow," Raven said, looking over Octavia's shoulder. "And _she_ hit on _you_? Why?"

"Thanks, Rae," Clarke laughed. "You're always there for me when my self-esteem needs a boost."

"Damn, Griffin," Octavia said, still staring at her phone. "I would kill for Lexa Woods to hit on me. Not one of you, but someone else. A stranger. I'd kill an old person."

"What about Lincoln?" Raven demanded.

"He can hit on me too. I'm a generous lover."

"I don't want to know."

"Or do you?" Octavia lunged across the couch, attempting a kiss. Raven grabbed her and they wrestled, looking far more like a couple than either of them would have wanted to know. Clarke left them to it, padding into the kitchen to get some more coke. When she came back, Raven was smothering Octavia with a cushion. Clarke refilled their drinks and sat little way from them while they tussled, worried about getting rum and coke on her sweater.

"Do you submit?" Raven demanded.

"Yeth!" Ocatavia's muffled voice cried from behind the cushion. Raven took it away and Octavia emerged, pink faced and gasping for breath.

Clarke laughed at her, and Octavia waved a warning finger. "This… will… happen… to you," she wheezed. "Lexa… Woods… I heard… Dominatrix…."

"Is she? I haven't really thought about it."

Lexa being a top made sense when Clarke thought about her aggressive flirtation and almost arrogant confidence – not that Clarke thought you could really tell until you were in bed with someone – but there was something about her youthful, innocent look that didn't really mesh with the idea.

"She is!" Octavia insisted, taking a revitalising swig of her drink. "I know a bunch of girls from my course who've slept with her. Apparently it's crazy intense."

"She sleeps with a lot of people huh?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Clarke grinned. "Damn, O, you know I can't preach about abstinence. I can't even remember how many people I've slept with. I was just sad I'm not special."

"Well, I've never heard about her taking girls on dates," Octavia considered. "Maybe you're more special than you think."

"I doubt it. Anyway I don't think smothering people with couch cushions is a real kink, O," Clarke giggled. "So I'm safe."

"It probably is," Raven said from her phone.

"Google it!" Octavia demanded.

"Ew, no."

"It's no freakier than what you get up to with Finn."

Raven grinned. "True."

"If Lexa is anything like what I've heard, you might have competition," Octavia teased.

"Trust me, this isn't a competition I want to be part of," Clarke laughed.

Octavia grinned. "She's a womaniser, Clarke. Watch yourself."

"But have fun," Raven added.

"Yeah," Clarke murmured. "I'll try."


	3. Still life from cafe

Chapter Three

 _Hey my dudes, I hope you're all feeling excellent. Sorry for the delay on this; I was on holigays with the gal pal. Thanks for views and reviews! Again, I'm trying to practise writing personal relationships and such with this fic, so any crit is welcome! Please tell me what worked for you and what didn't. Thanks friends!_

Clarke fiddled with her phone, checking the time yet again. She'd been in the coffee shop without buying a drink for fifteen minutes now, and was rapidly running out of ways to avoid the accusing eyes of the baristas.

She'd woken early on the last day of her weekend, which was typical, and spent the morning watching Desperate Housewives reruns with Octavia, who was rolled up like a human burrito. They were sharing ice water from a huge jug to combat their rum-infused headaches, Clarke swigging straight from the jug, Octavia's exposed head sipping from a straw.

Finally, at lunchtime, Octavia unravelled herself and declared that she needed to head home, and Clarke had dragged herself off the sofa to shower and put on a little mascara for her date. By the time she was dressed Finn had emerged from his and Raven's bedroom and was messing around on the Xbox. In the interests of staying as far away from him as was physically possible, Clarke had muttered a hello and practically run out of the apartment.

A practical and effective escape, but now, of course, she had nothing to do but wait. And wait. And wait.

Outside, students were strolling up and down the paths, their carefree conversations audible through the open window. While she waited Clarke was privy to all the details of Jim and Tina's antics in the lecture hall, someone named Mark who wasn't sure whether or not going to the anime society was lame, and all the gruesome details of a frat boy's first time. Trikru's student accommodation was nearby, the perfect walking distance to the coffee shops and lecture halls. Clarke had never lived there; it was far too expensive, even when she'd been studying medicine like her mother wanted, and Abby was paying for everything.

Clarke's phone buzzed. She jumped at the noise, startled out of her thoughts, and scrabbled to open her phone.

 _12:49_

 _Abby_

 _Hi honey how are you spoke to O yesterday_

 _she says you're not staying with her where_

 _are you staying please let me know I'm_

 _worried about you_

 _I love you xxx_

Clarke eyed the "I love you" with disgust and locked her phone again. She shouldn't have put Octavia in that position, but she still wished that O hadn't said anything to her mom. At least when she'd been staying at O's, her mom had left her alone. Now, she had to either reveal her location and risk a visit, or ignore the message and leave her mom to panic. As bitter as she still was after their fight, Clarke still didn't want to hurt her that way.

Her phone buzzed again, as though her mother could read her mind.

 _12:50_

 _Abby_

 _Hi honey I won't visit I know you don't_

 _want to see me just want to know where_

 _you're staying and that you're safe_

 _let me know please I am your mom_

 _love you xxxxx_

Clarke squirmed with guilt. It was so much harder when Abby actually tried. If they were still angry, still screaming at one another, it would have been so much easier to ignore her, but no one could keep up that level of hate forever. There was something so innocent in the message, something almost child-like in the lack of punctuation and the sincerity of it. Clarke felt her eyes growing hot and quickly wiped them so her mascara didn't run. She picked up her phone.

 _12.52_

 _Clarke_

 _Hi Mom, I'm staying at Raven's._

 _I'm fine, please don't worry._

 _Xxx_

She hammered out the message and then threw her phone in her backpack to avoid any replies that might come. The kisses haunted her. Should she have said "I love you", too? She didn't want to. She refused. Not yet.

Clarke stared out of the window, ignoring the frantic buzzing from her backpack as her mother tried to call. That was the end of it; the conversation window was closed. She'd talk to her mother when she wanted to talk to her mother.

The buzzing died.

Clarke gave a sigh. She gazed out of the window again, and raised her eyebrows. Outside on the path, Lexa had arrived – and arrived with another girl in tow. Lexa was looking positively divine, as usual, and deliciously butch in her nice leather jacket and a beanie, her long hair billowing in the wind.

The girl she was with was cute. Clarke could admit that; she didn't believe in competition between girls. She was short and curvy, with a bob of shocking blue hair and big, colourful tattoos on both forearms.

They paused on the path, obviously parting ways after – what? A coffee date, like Clarke's? Or was it the morning after?

Clarke tried to summon her inner Sherlock and examine their clothes and hair for clues, but either she was too stupid (likely), or that type of thing was just not realistic (highly likely), and she couldn't gauge anything. They both just looked nice.

She watched them saying their goodbyes, words floating in through the open window, feeling like a voyeur, but was too curious to stop.

 _How many girls does she have going?_ She wondered, peering at Lexa. _What number am I?_

She wasn't disappointed, really - it was too early for jealousy - but she did feel a little bit used. A little bit worthless. Still, she hadn't expected to fall in love with Lexa, not after her aggressive flirting. Lexa probably just wanted to get laid. That was fine. Clarke would readjust her expectations and they'd move on. There was nothing wrong with that, as long as you were honest about it.

As she watched, Lexa leaned in and made the short girl laugh by removing her huge glasses in order to press a kiss to her cheek. As a part-time glasses wearer herself, Clarke knew the pain of having partners lean in and smash their cheeks into the lens. It was obviously not the first time Lexa had kissed her.

"Have a good time with your friends," Lexa's voice, in full sultry mode, drifted through the window to Clarke. "It was great to see you again."

"You too," the shorter girl giggled. Lexa's charm had clearly claimed another victim.

Lexa smiled her devastating smile, and reached out to touch the shorter girl on the arm. "You know, I can't remember the last time I met someone like you."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but the girl beamed, thrilled with the compliment. Lexa let it hang amidst the girl's murmurs of agreement, still touching her on the arm. At last, Lexa withdrew the contact. The girl quietened, and Lexa looked at her watch and said, "I have to go. I'll see you again."

"See you! I'll send you a message."

Lexa nodded, brushing past her. _I doubt you'll get much of a reply,_ Clarke thought, remembering Lexa's short and sweet text messages from earlier in the week. _Or maybe this girl is more special than I am, and she gets actual responses? Hmm._

Clarke tucked herself further into the booth as Lexa pushed the door open. Her phone buzzed, no doubt a "Where are you?" text, but she didn't bother to look. Lexa strode past her and surveyed the half-empty shop.

Clarke gave herself a moment to admire Lexa's backside in her tight black jeans, and then, before she got totally distracted, said, "Hey."

Lexa whipped around. Her eyes shot to the open window, then back to Clarke. Clarke smiled brightly; she wasn't about to admit what she'd seen or heard.

"Hey," Lexa said. She hesitated, and Clarke gestured to the booth seat opposite. Lexa pulled off her jacket and dumped it on the seat, then leaned over. Startled, Clarke only had time to gasp a quick breath of masculine perfume before Lexa and her wild mane of hair engulfed her.

 _Be cool, Clarke, be cool – oh._

Lexa simply gave her a little hug, nothing more than a squeeze around the shoulders. Clarke fumbled to return it and accidentally touched her boob.

"Sorry-" she laughed.

"No problem," Lexa gave a feral grin. She sat down. Clarke tried not to be too disappointed. Given Lexa's forthrightness and downright seductive communications, Clarke wouldn't have been too surprised if Lexa had French kissed her before they even got their drinks.

Lexa grinned. "I like your jacket."

Clarke looked down at the tatty denim she always wore. "Are you joking?"

"Don't you like it, too? You've worn the same thing literally every time I've seen you."

"Oh," Clarke smiled. "Last time I was wearing a sweater, actually."

"A very cute sweater."

"Thanks."

Lexa smiled. "So, would you like a coffee? Cake? My treat."

She was saying it automatically, flirtatiously, setting the tone for their coffee date, but Clarke was far too hungry to be flirted with. She raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

"I owe you for the portrait, remember?"

"Anything I want?"

Lexa's smile faltered. "Sure?"

Clarke leapt to her feet. Lexa followed at a more respectable pace. A quick foray to the counter later, and Clarke sat down again with two muffins, a strawberry and vanilla smoothie, a large mocha with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, a packet of shortbread, a ham and cheese Panini, and a banana. Lexa had a cappuccino.

She looked at Clarke's huge tray of food with something that might have been admiration. Clarke drank the smoothie in four huge gulps and immediately started on the Panini. After days of ramen and PB&J the sudden explosion of flavour was beyond delicious, and she had to contain a moan.

Lexa raised a brow. "You don't mess around."

"I told you, I have a very sweet tooth," Clarke said, then realised she was being rude and offered Lexa a bite. "You want some?"

"No, thanks."

"Oh thank god; I didn't want to share."

Lexa laughed, eyebrows rising in surprise, as though she hadn't expected it.

"You look so shocked!" Clarke teased. "You think you're the only one who's funny?"

"Oh, no, no," Lexa smiled. "You're definitely pretty funny, Clarke Griffin."

"I try."

Clarke had already finished the Panini. She put the plate aside a little sadly, and started on the muffins and coffee at a more dignified pace. She wanted to take the rest of it home.

"So," Lexa began after a pause. Clarke got the distinct impression that she was trying to summon her sultry mode again, after Clarke had surprised her out of it. "Tell me about yourself."

"Hmm," Clarke stuck her finger in the whipped cream on top of her mocha and licked it clean. Lexa watched her finger intently. "I don't know. Ask me something."

"Where do you work?"

"I work at a nursing home," Clarke admonished. "I've already told you that, Lexa Woods. Did you forget? Am I boring you?"

"No," Lexa looked surprised. "Not at all. It must have slipped my mind; I apologise."

Clarke inclined her head like a lenient monarch forgiving an unruly subject. Lexa paused before trying again. "Where do you live?"

"I live on Victoria Street – you know, the big red apartment block – with my friend Raven. She's doing engineering at Trikru."

It was a prestigious course, and worthy of a comment, but Lexa simply nodded. "Cool, cool. What do you do for fun?"

"I draw, I paint, I read, I watch crappy T.V with my friends," Clarke said around a mouthful of orgasmic blueberry muffin. "You?"

"Sorry?"

"What do you do for fun?"

Lexa grinned like a wolf. "I take beautiful girls on coffee dates."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Sure you do, stud."

Lexa sipped her cappuccino. "I'm doing it right now, aren't I?"

Clarke smiled and shook her head. If Lexa was going to be too busy flirting to actually have a decent conversation, this was going to be a very boring afternoon indeed. She changed the subject, "What about you? You study law, right? How's that?"

Lexa shrugged. "Oh, it's boring. What do you-"

"No," Clarke interrupted. She put down her muffin. She wasn't in the mood for Lexa to put on an act with her. She wasn't about to end up like the girl outside, listening dewey-eyed to Lexa's nonsense lines. "I want to hear about your life, too, y'know. Tell me about your course. I don't know anything about law."

Lexa ran her tongue around her teeth. Clarke knew she'd been a little rude, and tried to soften the blow, "Please?" She asked. "If it's really boring, just make it up. I can't wait to hear about how you have a costume in your closet and late and night you walk the streets fighting crime."  
That drew a smile from Lexa, at least. She cleared her throat before she replied, as though making jokes took some preparation. "Well, the costume is pretty itchy," she said. "I don't wear it often."

"Would you wear it for me?" Clarke winked.

Lexa bit her lip. "It's not a sexy costume. It's like the new Batman. Practical. Muscular."

"Maybe that's what does it for me."

Lexa laughed, a short, surprised sound. Clarke liked making her laugh. They smiled at each other.

"You still haven't told me about your course," Clarke said, taking another bite of her muffin.

"Oh," Lexa folded her arms. "It's nothing special. Lots of reading. Lots of work. But it's a good degree and in a couple of years I'll be making good money, so…"

Clarke understood. "Your parents wanted you to do it."

Lexa frowned. "Yes. How did you know that?"

"My parents pushed me to do medicine," Clarke mused. "It wasn't too bad, but," she smiled as she quoted Lexa. "Nothing special. I dropped out to study art instead and it was… amazing. So much better."

 _Until you ran out of money, dropped out of your art course without a degree, fought with your family so badly you left home and started living on your friends' couches._

For the first time, Lexa seemed to be seriously considering something Clarke had said. She nodded, slowly. "I see."

Clarke finished her muffin and started on her coffee. Lexa mused for a minute or two, staring out of the window, and Clarke surreptitiously admired the clear line of her jaw and the way the sunlight brightened the green of her eyes. Around them, the coffee shop tinkered on with the hiss of the machines and the clink of cups and the laughter of its patrons.

Clarke watched Lexa. What she'd said about her course had had a real affect on her. She looked back at Clarke with a new expression, more honest than before.

"Are you ok?" Clarke asked.

"Yeah, fine," Lexa took a gulp of coffee. She cleared her throat, then gave Clarke another one of her sultry smiles. "You're an intriguing person, Clarke Griffin."

"Am I?"

Lexa nodded. "Let me take you on a date. My treat."

Clarke grinned. "You're so butch."

Lexa tilted her head. "You're playing hard to get," she accused.

Clarke sipped her coffee, structuring her answer carefully. First, flattery.

"Well, a beautiful girl like you," she began, and Lexa smiled her small, expectant smile. "A beautiful girl like you must find it easy to pick people up."

The twitch of a frown. "What do you mean?"

Clarke smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. "It seems like a little chase would do you good."

Lexa leaned forward, lancing Clarke with those huge, feral eyes. "What if I don't want to chase?"

Clarke shrugged, refusing to give in to Lexa's intense looks, no matter how pretty she looked with just that touch of smoky makeup. "I'm worth chasing." She grinned. "If you don't feel like it, you could always choose someone out of your fanclub and say, "I can't remember the last time I met someone like you", to get them into bed."

Lexa sat back in the booth, running her tongue around her teeth, her beautiful mouth hesitating just on the cusp of a smile. Clarke used her spoon to pick the marshmallows out of her mocha.

She'd been a little harsh, maybe – she hadn't needed to reveal how transparent she found Lexa's flirting, and hammering the point home with the cheesy lines she'd overheard was, admittedly, a little cruel. Still, she'd had her coffee, she'd got to stare at Lexa's perfect face a little more – that was all she'd wanted. If they had a future, it depended on Lexa's reaction now.

Lexa smiled. She raised a hand as though in defeat. "So you heard that," she grinned. "You got me. You know, those lines usually work."

"The lines don't work," Clarke said. "Your face works. You had that girl wrapped round your little finger."

"I'm not dating Tanya," Lexa assured her. "That was just-"

Clarke laughed. "Lexa, you're not even dating me. I don't care who else you're taking for coffee. It's none of my business."

Lexa nodded. "Thanks."

Clarke finished her coffee. "Now, can we have a normal conversation without you aggressively flirting with me?"

"Do you not like it?"

"Gentle flirting," Clarke teased. "I'm fragile."

"I'm not sure of that anymore."

Clarke laughed. "How flattering."

"It's good to know you're not immune to that, at least," Lexa grumbled, "although you are to everything else."

"Can you even remember what I told you about myself? What did I study? Who am I living with?"

"You… art, I think. Someone called… Raven. She's an electrician."

Clarke pursed her lips. "Close, but not close enough."

Lexa pulled off her beanie and dragged a hand through her hair. "Are you going to give me a pop quiz before you go on another date with me?"

" _This_ is a date?"

Lexa hesitated, caught again, a frustrated smile tugging at her lips. "I… asked you here with romantic intentions, yes."

"Wow, you really know how to charm a woman. 'Here is our coffee. Let us drink it with romantic intentions.' Nice, Lexa."

Lexa was looking rather flustered. It suited her – everything did. She sat back in the booth with a thump. "You… You're so…" She drew in a breath through her teeth. "Why did you agree to coffee if you're not interested?"

"I never said I wasn't interested," Clarke smiled. Lexa smiled back, a little shyly. "I'm just not interested in talking to the Lexa that uses lines and forgets everything I say. If you want to get me into bed then find me in a club. No judgement. But if you want to take me on a date then I want to get to know you."

Lexa narrowed her eyes. "So…"

"So," Clarke repeated. "Tell me about yourself."

Lexa laughed.

The rest of their date was perfect. Lexa dropped her act, at least partly – Clarke suspected that getting her to relax completely would be the equivalent of hanging out with a wild tiger until it let you touch it - and Clarke finally learned a thing or two about her. She was born in NYC, and after a long stint in the foster care system – Lexa was extremely brief about that stage – was adopted by a wealthy couple and moved to Mount Weather. She had an older half-sister, Anya, who was a professional MMA fighter and sounded like someone Clarke did not want to meet in a dark alley. Clarke mentioned the tiny dint in Lexa's nose and – wonder of wonders – Lexa actually blushed as she fingered her nose.

"Was it a fight?" Clarke karate chopped the air and managed to knock the sugar over. "You and Anya versus fifty bullies? Or did it happen while you were out wearing your crime fighting costume?"

Lexa's face was a delightful pink. "I don't want to say," she said miserably.

"Now you have to."

"Promise you won't laugh."

"Promise."

Lexa sighed. "I was playing guitar hero and I tried to swing the guitar round… It hit me in the face on the way back."

Clarke clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to suffocate the laughter threatening to explode. Lexa grinned at her struggle.

Lexa, in turn, listened to Clarke talk about Raven and Octavia (she avoided talking about her family). It turned out that Octavia's boyfriend, Lincoln, was a friend of Lexa's.

"Small world," Lexa said.

"She's so in love with him," Clarke added. "She talks about nothing else."

"I know!" Lexa's eyes went huge. "Lincoln won't shut up about her. I was tempted to give her a call myself."

Clarke laughed. "I don't think even you could tear them apart. Although O does bend that way."

"I'll have to give it a try."

Clarke remembered her conversation with Octavia the night before. "It wouldn't work. She knows you're a top."

Lexa's eyebrows shot up. Clarke giggled. It was definitely worth bringing sex into the conversation early, if only to see such a ridiculous expression.

"So you've been talking about me already?" Lexa's surprise settled into a grin. "Not as cool and collected as you're pretending to be, Clarke Griffin."

"I see you're not denying it."

Lexa shook her head. "I'm saying nothing."

Clarke grinned at Lexa. She was twice as beautiful when she was being sincere. It was so nice to see her relaxed.

They talked for another half hour. When she wanted to be, Lexa was perfectly pleasant to talk to, and rattled off story after story about her father, Gustus, building treehouses and giving them air rifles, or about Anya beating kids up in their high school.

"So warlike," Clarke commented, and laughed as an image popped into her head of tween Lexa with scraped up knees and crayola warpaint and bushy hair filled with twigs.

Lexa asked what she was laughing at, and Clarke begged a pen from the barista to draw it for her on a spare napkin. Lexa laughed at the image of herself. "I look like a raccoon!"

"Battle raccoon," Clarke insisted.

"Draw yourself, too," Lexa said. "Battle Clarke."

"You do it," Clarke gave her the pen.

Lexa froze under the weight of this great responsibility. "I can't draw-" She began, but Clarke interrupted.

"I drew you. Twice. It's only fair."

Lexa frowned down at the napkin and took up her pen with single-minded concentration. Clarke watched her, smiling at the way her brow creased with seriousness over such a silly thing, and realised that she liked Lexa. Not just in that she found her attractive – who wouldn't? – but that she liked the person behind all the lines and smoky looks. Real Lexa was lovely, and funny, and even a little shy about her real self. Clarke sighed.

 _Oh Jeez. It's happening._

Lexa still hadn't put her beanie back on, and as she bent over the napkin a strand of tawny hair fell over her eyes. Clarke reached out to brush it behind her ear. Lexa beat her to it, and Clarke had to instead make an urgent lunge for the sugar to mask her intentions.

"Finished," Lexa announced, slapping the napkin down in front of Clarke.

Next to warlike Lexa with her mane of hair and her warpaint, there was a stubby little stick figure with a ridge of jagged spikes for hair and two black stripes across its cheeks. Clarke burst into laughter.

"I look like Cloud Strife!"

Lexa grinned and drew in a big square weapon. "Buster sword," she said.

"I can't believe you got that reference," Clarke accused. "Nerd."

Lexa laughed and opened her mouth to reply, but her phone buzzed. They both jumped.

"Sorry," Lexa murmured, checking it.

Clarke checked her own phone for the time. They'd been sitting and talking for almost an hour. She watched Lexa replying to the text.

 _Another fan girl?_ Clarke was surprised by how much the thought depressed her.

"Sorry," Lexa said, finally looking up. "I'm meeting with my study group today at two thirty. I wasn't expecting to…"

Clarke raised her eyebrows. "To have fun?"

Lexa grinned. "I wasn't sure how this would go. I couldn't read you."

"Well, I'm glad I turned out to be a pleasant surprise."

Lexa's dimples showed as her smile deepened. They grabbed their bags – Clarke stuffing hers with the remaining biscuits and muffins - and headed out. Clouds had come down during their time in the coffee shop, but it wasn't yet raining, and the grey sky simply made it pleasantly warm. Lexa touched her arm.

"Let me take you out again. I had a good time today."

"Oh, did you?"

"Ok, enough with the tough girl act. I promise you, I'm thoroughly humbled, and I will take you seriously next time. I just need you to let me make a 'next time' for us." Lexa hesitated. "Please. I like you."

Flattered and surprised, Clarke raised her eyebrows. Lexa's brow was clear. There was none of her usual attitude in her face. She looked much prettier – even, as she waited for Clarke's verdict, a little shy.

Finally Clarke said, "I like you too, despite everything."

Lexa smiled. "Despite the flirting?"

"The lines," Clarke winced.

Lexa blushed, but didn't retreat. "So you'll let me take you out? A proper date?"

Clarke shrugged. "Why not?"

Lexa's eyes were clear, a beautiful peridot. "When?"

Clarke smiled. "Call me in a few days. I should have my schedule by then. Thanks for today…" She trailed off. She'd been hoping to play it casual, leave Lexa wanting more, but as they stood on the path waiting to part ways, she realised that Lexa's intense stare was back. This was the part, she was sure, that Lexa would try to kiss her.

 _Try to?_ She thought. _As if you'd say no._

"I'll… see you around, then," Clarke floundered. Lexa just kept looking at her. What should she do? Hug? Kiss on the cheek? A handshake would be ridiculous. Nothing would be rude.

At last Lexa smiled and shook her head. She reached out and embraced Clarke in the same brief hug that she had at the beginning of their date, except perhaps a tiny bit longer. Or was that just Clarke's imagination?

"I'll call you," Lexa promised. "See you soon."

"See you," Clarke breathed. Lexa smiled once more, a real, honest smile, and strode away towards the university. Clarke watched her go, smiling to herself, and turned the opposite way to start walking home.

As she went, she passed by the café window once again. Their table, although littered with the remains of Clarke's feast, was missing a certain embellished napkin. Clarke beamed.

 _When did she slip that into her pocket?_


	4. Still life with friends

_Hey friends. How're you doing? I hope you're well. Here's chapter four - as always, I'm trying to get better at writing relationships, so if you have any advice or crit about that I'd much appreciate it! Next chapter is the big date, dun dun duun! Thanks for reading :)_

Chapter Four

Clarke had finally – finally! – finished a watercolour. She leaned back, stuck her arms up and did a little victory wiggle in her chair. Across the reception, Wells glanced up.

"Chill, princess," he said over his coffee cup. "You're drinking rat pee at 2am, how happy could you possibly be?"

"Very!" Clarke declared. "Check it out!"

She turned her sketchbook towards him. It was a perfectly ordinary picture; the coffeeshop she'd been in with Lexa, viewed from the inside, table scattered with crumbs and cups and two figures on the leafy path outside, surrounded by greenery and flowers and a cloudy sky.

Wells's expression did not change; but then again, Clarke didn't think she'd ever seen it change. "Very nice," he said, and turned back to his book.

Clarke waited a moment, holding her sketchbook, but he didn't look up again. The conversation was clearly over. She stifled a laugh at his behaviour and put her book down. Perhaps it was a bit of a stretch to expect her stoic coworker to share her joy at her achievement.

Clarke herself beamed at her picture. It had worked. It had finally worked. Mr. Wallace had been right; watercolours needed her to relax, to let it flow. The trees were softer now, greens and browns blurring together. The café was done in gentle colours; soft reds and yellows, the cold colours like the white of the coffee cups warmed with shadows of blue. Although it had crossed her mind to draw Lexa and the blue-haired girl, she'd frowned at the sudden burst of jealousy this thought ignited. Instead, she'd shamelessly inserted herself into the picture instead. It wasn't clear – the figures were just shadows, facing away from the viewer so you could only see their hair – but Clarke knew. She smiled down at the shadow couple.

"Rounds," Wells said.

Clarke jumped out of her reverie and looked at the clock. Twelve already?

Wells was holding out his fist without looking up from his book. Wordlessly, they played a quick game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Wells chose rock. Clarke chose scissors.

"God damn it," Clarke muttered as she got to her feet.

"You're always scissors," Wells said.

"Really?"

"Always."

Clarke gave a bemused smile as she headed out into the dark corridor. _When did Wells get so funny?_

The home was perfectly quiet and still. She bounced along in her squeaky shoes, peering in through each of the doors to make sure all the residents were safely asleep. She was still riding high from her date with Lexa; mastering watercolours _as well_ was enough to make her dizzy with happiness. The fact that she still had half a chocolate muffin in her bag for later – well, that was just heaven.

Everything, it seemed, was coming up roses. Lexa was texting her now, really texting her, with actual sentences. Clarke had the next day off, and she was hoping Lexa would remember and ask her out somewhere. If she didn't, then Clarke wasn't off again until Saturday, but that was fine because Friday was payday, and Clarke could ask Lexa out, instead of the other way around. Clarke refused to ask her out now, when she had no money to pay. That would just be rude.

Clarke's stomach rumbled at the thought of money. She'd already made fantasy lists of the foods she was longing for – after she'd paid Raven rent, of course. If there was anything left over, then she could even take Lexa out somewhere nice; it made Clarke uneasy that Lexa paid for things. Still, Clarke mused, she'd do the same if their roles were reversed.

A light flickered up ahead. Clarke paused, startled. It flickered again.

A prickle of fear made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She stepped over to the nearest door and checked inside. The two residents were sleeping soundly. Back out in the corridor, the light kept flickering.

"Hello?" Clarke said, then blushed at her own stupidity.

 _What, is the lightbulb going to answer you?_

Someone thumped on the next door. Clarke jumped out of her skin. It kept going: bang, bang, bang. Her heart thundered right along with it; there were hardly any residents who could get up themselves and bang on a door. Could it be an intruder? Some visitor who'd gotten lost during the day? No, that was stupid; visiting hours were ages ago.

Clarke took a tentative step forward. The door handle began to rattle. She jumped again, but took another step anyway. If there was something wrong, it was her duty to look into it.

She crept closer and closer, the door shaking all the time, until finally she was close enough to see the number on the door. She sighed. Of course. Number 63.

"Mr. _Wallace_ ," she called, managing to sound both exhausted and annoyed. She reached for the door. "Stop what you're doing; I know it's you-"

The door burst open and smashed into Clarke's face on the way. White hot pain exploded behind her eyes and she staggered, a hand flying up to protect herself. Unfortunately, having her view blocked by an aggressive door and a hand meant that she completely missed Dante Wallace, masked, launching himself out of his room. He went sailing through the air, black robe flapping, and landed on a soft and unsuspecting Clarke. They tumbled to the ground together, Clarke's butt taking the brunt of their hard landing.

Clarke stared up at the flickering light above her, wondering dazedly if she was in heaven. A chuckle came from the tangle of human on top of her.

"I'm glad you find it funny," she groaned, gritting her teeth and straining to sit upright despite the weight of the old man. She heaved – he was not large, but still considerably taller and heavier than she was – and managed to roll him off her so he was lying on the floor instead.

"You can't go jumping around like that at your age, Mr. Wallace," she muttered, changing position to placate her sore butt. "You'll hurt yourself."

Dante was undeterred. "I got you… good this time," he laughed from the floor, having to pause for breath between words. "Bet you weren't… expecting… that."

"I sure wasn't," she agreed wholeheartedly. She pulled him upright and leant him against the wall. "Have you hurt yourself? Any bruises? What the-?"

She removed something from under her butt. It turned out to be the spooky mask that Dante had been wearing, and a plastic scythe, broken in the middle from the fall.

"Where did you get these?" She demanded.

Dante grinned. "Wells g… got them."

" _Wells_?"

Dante nodded. "He always… helps me… prank you."

Clarke was outraged. Quiet, unsociable Wells had been pranking her all year? "That little bitch," she muttered under breath, amused.

Dante giggled at her expression. "Mirabelle," Dante pointed a shaky hand behind them. "Selena… helped, too."

Clarke turned and found two of the other residents, whom she'd checked on and found to be peacefully sleeping a minute ago, grinning at them both from the window of their room. "Traitors," she growled, shaking a fist at them, but a smile tugged at her mouth nevertheless. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Weeks!" Said Mirabelle, beaming.

"It's nearly Halloween!" Said Selena, flicking the lights on and off again just because she could.

"Ohh," Clarke groaned. "Hell day. I forgot."

"You don't like Halloween?" Dante's mouth flew open. "It's my favourite holiday!"

"Because of the tricks or the treats?" Clarke arched a brow. "Come on, Mr. Wallace. That's enough excitement for one night. Let's get you back to bed."

She heaved him to his feet – it was damn lucky he hadn't hurt himself – and shuffled him back into his room.

"I don't want to," Dante panted, trying to walk with her but not having the strength. "I can't sleep! I sleep all day! Never do anything."

Clarke felt a pang of guilt. _I wonder what it's like to be here all day. At least I can clock out._

"Just for now, Mr. Wallace," she said. "You need to be in your chair, at least. I could take you for a walk if you liked."

He grumbled, almost childish, but eventually agreed. Clarke settled him into his wheelchair, retrieved his slippers and tucked them onto his feet, and they set off, making sure the rebel girls next door were in bed as they went.

They finished Clarke's rounds together, checking on all the patients while Dante babbled on about Halloween. By the end of it, Clarke had learned a little too much about his past, strange costumes: dressing as "a naked Apollo in his prime, covered in olive oil, as was the Greek tradition", was by far the last thing she wanted to imagine this sweet old man doing. Besides which, how was being naked even a costume?

Finally, they squeaked back to the reception desk, where Wells was still reading. He looked up as they entered.

"Mr. W!" He called. "How'd it go?"

"Great!" Dante beamed.

Clarke threw the broken scythe at Wells. The plastic made a very satisfying thud as it connected with his head. "I hate you both," she announced, making them grin even more.

"Ah, what's this?" Dante said, suddenly distracted. He grabbed Clarke's sketchbook. "Clarke! You kept practising with your watercolours! Oh my! This is good!"

A bubble of happiness swelled in Clarke's tummy. "You think?"

"Well, no. But I'm glad you kept practising!"

The bubble burst. Wells laughed.

Dante smiled, too, to take the edge off his comment. He touched Clarke's wrist. "It's not about whether it is good or bad, my dear," he said, blue eyes bright. "It's about the fact that it is _better._ Much, much better. You should be very proud. I know I am."

He was so sincere, his comments so sweet, that Clarke was surprised to find her eyes burning. She sniffed quickly, blinking away tears. Dante spared her by looking back at the painting, touching the shadowy fingers with gentle, artist's fingers.

"Who is she?"

Clarke jumped. "Who?"

"This girl."

He was pointing at Lexa's picture. Clarke blushed. He hadn't asked about the other one – did he know it was her? How could he tell?

"Oh, just," she floundered as to how to explain to a man of his era that it was a girl who she'd gone on a coffee date with whom she eventually wanted to bang. "Just a couple I saw leaving a coffee shop. I thought the window made a nice frame."

"It does, it does," Dante agreed. Then he winked at her. "A great frame for the couple."

Clarke's eyes went wide in furious warning. She glanced at Wells, but he was smiling to himself, seemingly absorbed in his book.

"Come on, Apollo," Clarke said to Dante. "Let's get you back to bed before you cause any more trouble."

She got about two steps before her phone, abandoned on the reception desk, gave a hopeful little beep. Clarke lunged for it. It was a text from Lexa.

 _Lexa, 00:23_

 _Let me take you out tomorrow night._

Clarke bit her lip, trying desperately to contain a grin. Dante twisted in his chair to look at her.

"Another invitation to the coffee shop?"

Clarke put her phone in her pocket and gave him a good push. "None of your business."

Clarke checked her bank account.

The ATM screen went blank for moment, although it was shocked that she was even asking. Eventually, with much hesitation, flickering, and wheezing electronics, the screen lit up.

 _$3.45_

Clarke said, "Huh." It was difficult to be disappointed by the small amount when she was actually deeply surprised that it was not even smaller. Quickly, as though afraid money was bleeding from her account cent by cent, Clarke snatched her card back from the machine and hurried into the shop next door to stock up on ramen and pasta.

Back at Raven's, her stock of food looked even sadder than her bank account had implied. With a sigh, Clarke put a packet of ramen on the stove to boil. The smell, far too familiar after the last week, made her grimace.

 _Only four days til payday,_ she told herself, then brightened considerably. _And tonight, Lexa is taking me out. I shall wash the taste of ten cent ramen from my mouth with champagne and lobster._

She was joking – she'd have been happy even if Lexa dropped her off to walk through the McDonald's drive-thru in a cardboard box – but it made her miserable lunch easier to stomach. She took it to her room, still trying to avoid Finn, and surveyed her wardrobe while she ate.

Jeans. T-shirts. Blue sweater. Sneakers. The denim jacket that Lexa had made fun of her for wearing too often. A beanie with a hole in that Raven had given to her.

It was hardly first date material.

Suddenly, Raven's head popped around the door.

"Are you eating ramen _again_?" She demanded.

"Oh, you know me," Clarke smiled. "I just love ramen."

Raven looked at her as though she were mad. Maybe she was mad.

"Isn't your date tonight?" Raven thankfully moved on. She cast a disparaging glance over Clarke's threadbare wardrobe. With classic Reyes tact, she said, "I hope to God you're not thinking of wearing any of this shit."

"Erm…" Clarke blushed, not willing to admit that she had nothing else and she needed help.

Raven put her hands on her hips. "Well, if you haven't got anything else then you can borrow something of mine. Get a shower. I'll help."

Clarke felt a rush of love that came from being perfectly understood. "Thanks, Rae."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Get a move on, Cinderella."

Clarke finished her ramen and jumped in the shower. She washed her hair, put a facemask on, and, after a moment's consideration, shaved.

 _Not that I'm expecting anything,_ she tried to convince herself. _It's just good to be prepared._

Out of the bathroom she checked the time – 4:30. Lexa was coming at 7. No problem.

Clarke dried her hair and put it in a loose braid so it'd be nice and wavy when she released it later. She put some make-up on, just a touch of foundation, eyeliner, and mascara; not because she didn't like it, just because it was all she had with her.

Raven found her half an hour later, sitting in her underwear and smearing the walls and floor with blue nail polish as though she'd given up entirely and poured out the whole bottle in a vain effort to get just some of it onto her nails.

"Very art nouveau," Raven said approvingly.

"No," Clarke grumbled, getting polish on her skin instead of her nail for the fiftieth time, "It's impressionist. ' _Desperate idiot tries to make self look good._ ' The impression that you get is that she's failed."

Raven laughed. "Relax. Here, I got you a drink. Your toes are fine, and your left hand is ok. I'll do your right; that's always the pain in the ass."

Clarke meekly accepted the drink and Raven's brusque ministrations. There was nothing else for it; once Raven had chosen a project, she didn't rest til it was finished, and finished perfectly at that.

With a steady hand and a practiced eye, as careful as though she were painting her beloved truck (although why anyone would want a sky blue metallic truck was a mystery), Raven finished the second layer on Clarke's right hand.

"You haven't been on a date in a while," Raven said as they waited for it to dry. "That's not like you."

"I've been busy," Clarke said.

"Stressed," Raven corrected. She glanced Clarke up and down with a shrewd eye. "When are you going to tell me what happened with your mom?"

Clarke hid herself behind her whisky and coke. "Later?" She said hopefully.

Raven sighed. "Later is ok, as long as it's soon," she said. "You can't live in my closet forever."

"Did you want to stick Finn in here?" Clarke tried to joke, but Raven's look was stern, and cold fear settled low in Clarke's stomach.

 _Raven wants you out. She's had enough already. But I haven't been paid! I can't –_

"No," Raven punched her on the arm. "Relax! I'm not going to kick you out. Not yet, anyway; you do need to go sometime. I'm just worried about you, Griffin."

"Don't be," Clarke said, hating how desperate she sounded. "Please. I'm fine, Rae. Just give me another week or so and I'll be fine."

Raven sighed and started a clear layer on top of the blue. "You're avoiding the question about your mom."

Clarke stared at her nails, glistening with paint. Raven's hands, calloused and strong, embraced her own.

"She called me earlier," Raven said, trying to meet Clarke's eyes. "I told her you were out. I said I didn't know why you'd left – she was trying to explain it to me. I want to hear it from you, Clarke."

Clarke's eyes began to sting. She hated herself for her instant emotional reaction. She finally looked up, at a blurred image of Raven's beautiful, sharp face. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I should have told you earlier."

"It's ok," Raven said. "Tell me now."

Clarke took a shaky breath. "We had a fight about me dropping out of med school," she admitted; Rae deserved to hear it. She'd been patient enough with Clarke's secrecy.

Raven raised her eyebrows. "But that was last year."

"Yeah. She was angry because I messed up art school, too." Clarke refused to meet Raven's eyes. "She thinks I'm a fuck-up," she said. It still hurt to remember. "She said all this stuff about – about my dad. About how disappointed he'd be in me. How he was so happy when I got accepted to med school. I just…" She couldn't keep going.

Raven nodded, looking thoughtful. "That sucks," she said bluntly.

"Yeah."

Raven gave her a brief hug. Clarke clung to her tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of apple shampoo and engine oil. Raven was solid, and warm. Clarke had forgotten how good her version of tough love could be.

"Sorry I brought it up," Raven said, pulling back. "Let's get you ready for your big date."

She got up to leave, tactfully, obviously thinking Clarke wanted to be alone.

"Wait - come back." Clarke gestured at the tissue box with her wet nails, smiling through her tears. "I can't – my nails."

Raven laughed and grabbed a tissue, dabbing at Clarke's eyes for her, careful to avoid her makeup. "You idiot, Griffin," she said fondly. "Come on, they'll dry soon. Let's look at clothes."

Raven's room was a junkyard. She expertly navigated the rare stepping-stones of clear floorspace between piles of clothes, books, and bits of disembowelled machinery, leaving Clarke to stagger across, stubbing her toes and knocking things over until she reached the safety of the bed and collapsed.

Raven threw open the doors to her massive closet and looked over her shoulder at an awestruck Clarke. "We're the same size, right?"

Clarke looked at Raven's butt. "I hope so."

"Stop staring," Raven admonished, but there was a wicked glint in her dark eyes. "What would Lexa say if she caught you admiring other girls?"

"No one could distract me from you and O," Clarke said, feeling better enough to grin.

"I wish I was gay," Raven said vaguely, picking out a couple of dresses. "I hate men."

Clarke had heard variants of this many times before, usually after a lot of alcohol, and let it go. "How about jeans?" She asked.

"Jeans are too butch," Raven protested.

"You've never seen a butch woman in your life if you think that's butch," Clarke laughed.

"Put a goddamn dress on."

"I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard."

Raven rolled her eyes. "I know you wanna get rawed tonight, don't pretend."

Clarke was surprised enough to blush. "Rae!"

"It's true!" Raven threw a dress at her, then another, and another. "And we're gonna make it happen. Try these on."

"I'm not going to sleep with her on our first date," Clarke grumbled. She started trying the dresses anyway.

Gradually, as the pile of tried-on clothes grew taller and taller, and the whisky began fizzing pleasantly in Clarke's veins, she forgot about her problems with her mother. She watched Raven animatedly showing her the pros and cons of each outfit – "This is an ass outfit, Clarke. You need a tit outfit, here," – and felt a warm blossom of love explode in her chest.

"That's the one," she said suddenly, as Raven lifted out a silky black dress with a split up the thigh. "Can I wear that?"

"This one?" Raven held it up to herself in the mirror.

"Yes," Clarke leaned forward. "When did you buy that? I've never seen you in it. You must look stunning."

Raven's ears went a little pink. "I scrub up ok," she admitted. "I got this for Finn, in case he ever takes me out."

 _Finn never takes her out?_ Clarke decided not to comment on that. She yearned for the day that Rae had a decent guy who treated her right. _And who doesn't make creepy comments about_ me.

"Well, you're going to blow him away," she said, trying to keep the peace.

Raven shrugged. "Eventually. Here, you might as well borrow it. It's doing nothing but sit in my closet."

Clarke took it off her and held it up against herself before the mirror. It was elegant, and very dressy. "You don't think it's a bit much?"

Raven thumped her on the arm. "Shut up and blow her away."

They shared a smile. Raven, ever the woman of action, broke the moment first by grabbing her jewellery box. "Put it on and we'll choose some accessories."

"YO!"

The front door slammed open and someone came thundering through the apartment.

Clarke jumped, holding the dress up like a shield, suddenly very scared to be in nothing but her underwear. Raven, more sensibly, grabbed a spanner from the floor.

The door burst open. A fireball in her red soccer kit, Octavia charged in. Clarke and Raven relaxed and swore simultaneously.

"Octavia!" Raven chided.

"Are you ok?" Clarke asked. Octavia had a light in her eyes, some incredibly powerful emotion that Clarke could not identify.

Octavia ignored her. " _You_!" She jabbed a finger at Clarke.

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" Octavia was full-on roaring. Her gesture changed; she pointed back the way she'd come. "There are fifty girls crying in the soccer changing rooms because _Lexa Woods_ is apparently off the market and not returning any calls!"

 _Holy shit._ Clarke was dumbfounded. She'd never imagined that Lexa would abandon her other girls. Clarke hadn't told her to – had she? She thought she'd been very clear about it at the café – Lexa could do as she liked.

"Damn, Clarke," Raven said admiringly, hands on hips. "She must be serious about you."

Clarke bit her lip, suppressing a beaming smile at the thought. She turned back to the mirror, pretending to still be studying the dress that was pressed up against her. "Oh, really?"

Raven jabbed her on the butt. "Don't act cool! We all know you're thrilled. Did you shave your legs?"

"Rae," Clarke rolled her eyes.

"What the hell did you _do_?" Octavia sounded equally frustrated and impressed. "After one coffee date! This has never happened. Ever. And Lexa has gone through a lot of girls."

"I didn't do anything," Clarke said, pulling the dress over her head.

"Liar," Raven accused.

"Clarke, I swear to god, if you don't tell us every single detail of what went down at that café, the team are going to duct tape me to a goalpost and leave me overnight," Octavia pleaded. "These girls are desperate."

Clarke tugged the dress into place. She considered her date. What exactly had she done to make such an impression on Lexa?

"I ate twenty dollars' worth of snacks and told her to stop flirting with me."

"Very funny," Octavia rolled her eyes.

Raven frowned. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Nope."

They looked at one another. Clarke, happy with the dress, leant over to Raven's accessories and chose some earrings.

"How the hell did that work?" Octavia demanded.

"Maybe Lexa has literally never met anyone who didn't want to sleep with her," Raven suggested.

"Oh, I definitely want to sleep with her," Clarke said. "I just wasn't going to play any games."

"Games?" Octavia asked.

"Yeah," Clarke sighed. "Every time I met her she kept acting all flirty and it was all deliberate. She wasn't interested in me at all, not really. I told her straight up-"

"Har har."

"-That if she wanted to sleep with me she could find me in a club, and if she was going to ask me on dates then she needed to drop the act and get to know me."

Raven cocked a brow, impressed. "That's my girl."

O was gawping at her. "You said _what_?" She demanded. "To _Lexa Woods_? What if she totally blew you off? She's the hottest girl on campus!"

Clarke shrugged.

Octavia continued to stare as Clarke and Raven finished her outfit, tugging the silky dress into place to show the slit up the thigh, adding a tasteful silver bracelet and an aquamarine pendant of Clarke's which matched Raven's earrings. When they were done, Clarke studied herself in the mirror, fluffing out her golden hair over one shoulder. She was far from humble enough to ignore the fact that she looked fantastic.

At last, Octavia seemed to find her voice. "Clarke," she said, with great admiration. "I didn't know you were a top."


End file.
